


Angel Kisses

by Ann_Drist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bunker, Fluff, Food, Freckles, In-denial Dean Winchester, Let me know if I need to tag anything else and I will, M/M, Oblivious Castiel, Pie, Pining, Pining Dean, Short One Shot, casual ableist language, mention of Sam being sick from the trials, road trip in the Impala, wacky misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 03:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4731863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann_Drist/pseuds/Ann_Drist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas hit the road for a job in Georgia. On the way there, Dean learns a new colloquialism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel Kisses

Dean paused in the front hallway of the bunker to turn around to talk to Sam again. 

“Hey, text me a couple times a day, will ya? So I know you’re not pukin up a lung.” 

Sam pursed his lips. “You . . . do know that lungs aren’t part of the gastrointestinal system, right Dean?”

“Glad ya feel well enough to be a nerd. I bought a twelve-pack of ginger ale. It’s in the fridge, okay?” 

“I’m not a kid anymore, Dean.” 

Dean grumbled inarticulately. 

“What was that?” Sam asked. 

Cas looked between the two brothers. “He said—”

“Anyway, we should get going,” Dean said quickly. 

Cas frowned. “That’s not what you said.” 

Dean plastered on a smile and dragged Cas by the elbow. “Well, that ghost ain’t gonna gank itself! Bye, Sammy!” He pointed at his brother with his free hand. “And you better friggin text me, or we’re comin right back.” 

When they exited the bunker, Dean realized his hand was still clutching Cas’s arm. He abruptly let go and headed to the car, outpacing the angel. 

 

 

For a while now, they’d been getting word about multiple hauntings in the historic district of a town in Georgia. It should have been a simple salt-and-burn that local hunters could have handled on their own. However, salting and burning hadn’t solved the problem. So far, the locals had no luck finding the artifact with the bit of skin or hair or blood or whatever it was that was keeping the ghosts from moving on. 

It was time for more experienced hunters to step in before anyone else died. The trials had put Sam out of commission (even though he kept insisting he was fine). Charlie was in San Diego for Comic Con (and had flatly told Dean that even if it was the apocalypse, she wasn’t missing Comic Con for it). Garth was in the middle of a job in Wyoming. So that left Cas. Even with his grace on the fritz, he’d be a hell of a lot more useful than Sam. Dean felt guilty for asking him, though. 

Augusta, Georgia was a hell of a ways away from the middle of Kansas. It got a lot warmer as they drove further south. After rolling down the windows and wiping his forehead for a while, Dean shed his outer shirt and threw it in the back seat. That helped a bit. It felt nice to feel a breeze and the sun on his arms for a change. When signs advertising a nearby gas station popped up, Dean was past ready to pull over and stock up on some ice-cold water. 

Inside the mini-mart, Dean scanned the shelves, picking out his usuals—pie, beef jerky, and of course, water from the refrigerated case. It was damn hot out. And muggy. 

Cas paced the aisles, glancing around with mild curiosity. Dean was trying to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn’t do anything weird and spook the locals. But then, “Steve” used to work at a Gas’n’Sip, so he probably knew what he was doing. 

The woman at the register smiled at Dean as he put his basket on the counter. 

“Well the angels must really like you, huh?” 

Dean snapped to attention. He palmed the gun tucked into the back of his jeans but didn’t take it out. 

“Well ah, not really. What makes you say that?” 

She chuckled and gestured at his face and arms. “Well, I mean look at you. You’re covered in angel kisses.” 

Dean could feel his entire face heat up. “I’m not—what?” 

Given how she was still ringing up his items, Dean supposed she wasn’t an angel or a demon out to get him and Cas. But what in hell was she talking about?

Of course Cas would walk up and join him at that moment. Dean stared fixedly at the register. 

The cashier chuckled and shook her head. “Y’all must not be from around here.” 

“No, just passin through,” Dean said. 

“They don’t call freckles ‘angel kisses’ where you’re from?” 

Dean’s blush deepened. “No, they most certainly do not.” 

Cas tilted his head at them, gaze shifting from Dean to the cashier and then back again as Dean paid in cash and took his change and the receipt. Dean grabbed his purchases and left in a hurry, Cas trailing behind him. 

 

Once they were back in the car and on the road again, Cas looked over at Dean.

“You know that’s just a human myth. Freckles aren’t literally—”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I know, Cas.” 

Cas gave Dean’s face and arms an evaluating look. “Even if it were true, it would take an inordinately long amount of time to—” 

“Dammit, Cas! Can we—talk about something else?” 

Cas paused for a moment. “I saw a lot of farms on our way here. Do you think they treat their animals well? Do you suppose they slaughter them humanely?” 

Cas filled the silence with his thoughts on the ethics of animal husbandry and Dean focused on the road. He felt flushed and warm all over, and this time it wasn’t because of the weather. 

He looked at his arms self-consciously. After several hours of driving in the sun, his freckles looked more pronounced. There were maybe twice as many of them than usual. He shifted in his seat to get a look at himself in the rearview mirror. Yup, they’d showed up in full force on his face, too. He even had a few scattered on his ears, some peppering the skin right near his lips, and faint ones dotting his eyelids.

Angel kisses. That had to be the stupidest pet name for freckles he’d ever heard.

He glanced at Castiel as he continued to talk about the virtues of letting calves roam free instead of confining them to tiny pens for the sake of more tender veal. The guy’s lips looked like they were chapped, as always. 

There’d been some chapstick in a plastic bin at the gas station checkout for just ninety-nine cents a pop. Dean should have gotten some for him. 

Just so the guy could be comfortable. It wasn’t that Dean . . . _wanted_ Cas’s lips to be soft and kissable—

God damn that cashier to hell, he didn’t normally think about Cas’s lips this much.  

Ever. He meant ever.  

Dean gritted his teeth, focused on driving, and tried his damnedest not to think about what it would feel like for Cas to kiss every single freckle on his body. He found himself shivering, even though it was so warm and muggy. 

Dean sighed. “Dammit, Cas.” 

“Sorry.” 

“What? No, you’re—nevermind.” Dean turned on the radio.

 

For the rest of the drive, Dean felt cursed. Every time Dean noticed a new freckle from the Southern sun—on the inside of his elbow, the back his hand, the tip of his nose—the image of Cas gently pressing his lips to that spot rushed to his mind. 

The next time they stopped for gas, he was going to buy some damn sunblock. 


End file.
